Practice Makes Perfect
by Eighteenth Hour
Summary: After Bakura spends an anxious afternoon alone, Marik returns to their apartment with a brilliant plan. Little does Bakura know that this plan will alter and change the course of their "partnership" in a way he only ever dreamed of. After all, practice makes perfect. Thiefshipping. Oneshot lemon.


**Hello, there, Yu-Gi-Oh fandom. I absolutely adore thiefshipping (and you can totally blame Little Kuriboh for that, but really, so can a lot of people).**

**The characters' personalities in this fic are (much) more based off of the Abridged Series as opposed to the original, although I think it slips into the original a little bit at times. Or something. It's a funky mix. Ignore me.**

_**This oneshot contains yaoi; or, to the blissfully uninformed, boy-on-boy sex.**_** If such material offends you, please click the back button. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

* * *

Practice Makes Perfect

So far, this lazy Sunday was turning out to be legitimately quiet for a change.

Among the less glaring disadvantages of living with Marik Ishtar, having a day off was rare. When the energetic Egyptian wasn't playing _Bloodlines_, he was constantly coming up with harebrained schemes to conquer the world with the power of children's card games — and you can guess how often that's worked out. Strangely enough, for the two of them, that had fallen into routine: every few hours, Marik would spontaneously announce his new idea on how to conquer the world, only for Bakura to immediately scoff and point out every flaw he could. Sometimes this would be enough to put off Marik, but more often than not, his diluted and rather infuriating sense of logic would somehow win over Bakura's more intelligent reasoning. The Egyptian would then proceed to drag the thief into following through on some of the dumbest, strangest, most humiliating so-called "evil plans" he had ever been a part of.

It was on this afternoon that Bakura took advantage of the overwhelming silence to ponder exactly why he would usually give up on convincing his partner-in-crime to not follow through with his ridiculous plots for world domination. He knew he could win most, if not all, of the arguments they had if he just pressed a _little_ harder — on the rare occasions he did, Marik would cave in after a minute or two. So why didn't he?

The pale thief slowly flipped himself over on the couch. He couldn't help but notice that no one was on the computer and talking nonstop throughout a game, that no one was using all the hot water in the entire apartment complex, that no one was singing off-key while sorting through his Duel Monsters deck.

Bakura suddenly felt a pang of uncharacteristic dismay, making his body slouch and expression soften. As soon as he noticed, he growled, not wanting or needing this reminder of why he would usually submit in arguments against Marik. He already knew why he would submit, damn it.

_Bloody Egyptian, destroying my resolve, fucking up my life with buddy-buddy bullshit, screwing with my emotions…_

Against his will, Bakura's eyes quickly flashed to the door of the apartment. The lack of lively blathering not only unnerved the normally level-headed thief, but also sent a strange mixture of worry and loneliness down his spine.

…_Making me miss someone for the first time in thousands of years._

"Bollocks."

The thief stood up, stretching a little. He wasn't the type for naps, but last night had been an absolute doozey. In essence, Marik's yami had come out after the former had a nightmare. For a long and terrifying half hour, Bakura tried to get his partner to come to his senses without being killed by the demon that had possessed him, narrowly avoiding getting gashed by the Millennium Rod. Eventually, as always, Marik overcame his darker half. Bakura had felt relieved until, for the first time after this sort of ordeal, Marik burst into tears.

"_One of these days, Melvin might actually e-end up hurting y-y-you. I would n-never forgive myself. If Melvin g-got you, then you m-might not want us to be partners anymore…."_

"_Bullshit."_

Bakura had sat next to Marik, giving him an awkward hug in an attempt to reassure him. The Egyptian had then proceeded to hold Bakura back tightly, willing him to stay until he fell asleep again and successfully shocking his ally to comply.

The sincerity of that request had robbed Bakura of his night's rest.

It was for this reason Marik was so insistent that he should have a nap today, declaring that he would venture out for most of the afternoon and commanding his partner to get some sleep while he was gone. While Bakura's body felt much better and far less fatigued, his insides were still a mess, quaking with turmoil and confusion. He had known since the moment he met Marik that he was physically attracted to him, and he made it no secret even though the Egyptian rarely seemed to understand his hints. During the early days of their partnership, he felt that his ally's childish innocence and idiocy existed primarily to annoy and distract him from the other's incredible figure. It was only after Bakura had further gotten to know him, discovering the wonder and compassion Marik holds, that he began to admit to himself that his little crush might not have just been on a physical basis anymore.

And after seeing Marik weep like that, so insecure about what Bakura thought of him and their friendship, the thief decided that he never wanted to be the reason the Egyptian cried again.

Now Bakura was staring at the door, pacing back and forth the tiny living room of their apartment, debating as to whether or not he should head into Domino City and look for him. The silence and solitude were suffocating. He bit his lip, pausing for a moment and running a hand through his hair, before walking towards it.

At that moment, the door slammed open. "Hey, Bakura! Are you awake yet?"

A jolt of astonishment stunned Bakura. He rapidly covered it with the only tool he could use at times like this — sarcasm. "Of course not, Marik. It's not like I'm standing here, wide awake, right in front of you. Even if I _were_ sleeping, your racket would have woken me."

Undeterred, the Egyptian swaggered inside, blond hair bouncing slightly with every step he took. He immediately flopped onto the couch Bakura had been resting on a few minutes ago. Marik then turned, his amethyst eyes making contact with Bakura's mahogany ones, delivering his friend a smile that made his borrowed heart race. "Is Fluffy feeling any better?" he cooed.

The thief attempted to drown out the thumping in his ribcage as he paced towards the sofa, aiming to return to his spot on the other side. "I feel much more rested, if that's what you're asking. Otherwise, I feel as I always do." _Around you, damn it…._

The Egyptian grinned. "You mean grumpy and snarky?"

As he took a seat on the side of the sofa opposite Marik, Bakura half-sighed, half-deadpanned, "No, Marik. I'm feeling positively bloody _chipper._"

"Well, good," Marik beamed, "because this evening I have a new plan!"

"Bugger…"

"An _evil_ plan!"

"Let me guess: we're going to dress up as robbers and trick-or-treat at Yugi's house, only to reveal ourselves as actual robbers and make off with his Millennium Puzzle."

The Egyptian paused for a moment, looking as if he were genuinely considering Bakura's proposition. The thief rolled his eyes. He may have been in l… had _unwilling affection_ for his bumbling partner-in-crime, but no amount of "fondness" could block the fact that he was an idiot.

"Not quite," Marik said, drawing out his words as if still in thought. "Excellent suggestion, though. We ought to try that sometime!"

Bakura suppressed the urge to slap a hand to his forehead.

"But actually, Bakura, I had a bit of a rather… _different_ plan. Because… uhm…."

Marik looked down at his hands, his cheerful expression waning to a quiet and embarrassed sort of pout. The thief could tell immediately that something weighed heavily on his mind — after all, Marik was ridiculously easy to read.

The Egyptian tilted his head towards Bakura, successfully making the other's face heat up due to a sudden, strange mental voice referring to Marik as "cute." The thief quickly hid that behind a placid expression and nodded, prompting him to carry on. Marik shook away the poutiness and replaced it with a very effeminate huff. "Honestly, Fluffy, this has been the most boring afternoon of my life. It's just no fun walking around Domino City without you. Not even children's card games could fill the loneliness!"

Bakura felt his heart sink at Marik's earnestness — the second time the Egyptian's natural candor had such an effect on the thief within the last 24 hours. "Marik…"

"And it totally _didn't help_ that there were tons of teen couples at the park, hanging out, sitting in trees, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Marik interjected, effectively derailing Bakura's sentiment. "That made me start thinking—"

"I hope you didn't hurt yourself," Bakura smirked.

"—to the last time I kissed a girl."

The thief's back grew rigid. Not enough for Marik to notice, though, because he kept on talking. "And I thought about how inexperienced I am because I've honestly never had much contact with people outside, let alone females, for a lot of my life. If I ever kiss one, then there's no way my sexy tan could make up for it, even if it _is_ far better looking than—"

"Wait, wait, hold on," the white-haired man interjected. "I thought you said that you _had_ kissed a girl."

Marik's words died in his throat, his whole body falling along with his face. Bakura wondered if he should've stayed silent. "That's just it, Bakura," he mumbled. "I've never kissed anyone."

Bakura put on an uninterested expression, certain that Marik's naïveté would prevent him from noticing the thief's toes curl in discomfort at the topic. "Is that so?"

"Yes!" Marik replied emphatically, "Could you believe it for a hot guy like me? With _this_ midriff? With _this_ ass? I don't blame you for being so skeptical!" Bakura groaned even though the exasperated sound was no match for Marik's spirit. "And that is why my evil plan for tonight is to practice kissing, so that I can _prove_ to ladies just how much I love them!"

"Well all right, then. Go find a girl and start bloody practicing." Bakura scowled at the thought.

The Egyptian crossed his arms. "I can't practice on a _girl!_"

The thief's curiosity forced him to bite back a 'gay' comment and ask, "Why the bloody hell not?"

"I mean…" Marik drew off, mind straining on how to word his next statement, "What if they don't like it? What if word gets out that I'm an _awful_ ladies-man?"

"Congratulations, Marik. Now all you need to do is find a man who's willing to kiss you."

A pause. Marik chuckled uneasily.

"…Well… actually… you see, Bakura, I was hoping it would be you."

Bakura froze, eyes widening and mouth hanging slightly agape. His heart skipped a beat as small, broken noises escaped his throat. Marik stuttered, "P-please don't get me wrong, Bakura. I have perfectly good reasons for asking you! I mean, we're partners — _friends _— and whatever awkwardness might come about from kissing you will disappear really quickly." When the thief didn't respond immediately, he continued, "Oh, come on, all I'm asking is to let me practice one or two kisses with you. You don't know what it feels like, being a lip-virgin!"

Blinking away his astonishment, the thief turned his head away from Marik. He opened his mouth, intent on saying something, but closed it again quickly. After a few seconds, he turned to the Egyptian and replied, "I… have never kissed, either."

"_Really?_" Marik asked, amazed. "But how is that possible? I know you look like a young man, but you're like over three thousand years old!"

Shrugging his shoulders and maintaining his outer nonchalance, Bakura replied, "I was trapped in a ring most of that time, and even when I wasn't, I've never held much interest in anybody."

_Before I met you._

If the little voice in Bakura's head had a physical form, he would have choked it.

"Well, that's good news, then! You can practice with me for when you find your true love!"

A persistent fluttering heated Bakura's stomach at the thought of being lip-locked with his partner. What Marik had said it was for — "true love" — only increased the feeling's intensity. Bakura thought he had experienced love once, long ago, back when his village thrived, back in the days of pharaohs and magic and monsters, but he didn't recall it ever being anything like these odd, foreign feelings he felt around his only friend.

_True love._ The idea was so inviting and so utterly discomforting that the thief had no idea quite how to respond.

So he stuck with what he knew.

"Won't kissing me make you look gay?"

"Ahh, but we're in our apartment! All we have to do is close the windows and no one will have to know." He paused before hastily adding, "Besides, you know I'm not really gay."

Bakura opened his mouth, ready to compare Marik's apparent straightness to a number of things (specifically pig tails, coiled springs, and circles), when the Egyptian abruptly moved forward so that he was leaning over the thief's sitting figure. Suddenly, the only noise Bakura could make was a strange stuttering sound that struggled to resemble a question. "Wh— wha— I…."

The tanned boy tilted his head, seemingly unaware of the effect this close proximity was having on his partner, and asked, "Well, then? Won't you help me, Bakura?"

A flash of embarrassment crossed Bakura's face. He bit his lip, flustered and annoyed and unsure how to act with Marik gazing at him so expectantly. Instinct told him to lie. To take the thief's way out, to slink away and pretend this never happened. Bakura could be a damn good actor when he felt like it, but it was hard to summon when his friend would stare directly at him with his brilliant, purple eyes — the eyes that had so much emotion, so much curiosity, so much genuine heart that the Prince of Thieves felt he may never understand all the complex intricacies they held.

Bakura was both frustrated and completely unsurprised when he found himself looking away, his cheeks darkening in color, and gave Marik a brief nod.

The thief didn't even have time to brace for impact before his friend leaned forward and meshed their lips together.

The kiss was gentle, asking, curious — but at the same time, strangely longing. Bakura was almost certain the last attribute was in his head, but he couldn't help but feel there was something more in the Egyptian's gesture. His embarrassment skyrocketed as he realized that he was beginning to kiss Marik back, pressing against his lips with roughly equal intensity. A big part of him wanted to go beyond that, wanted to dominate his friend and show him what he's made of, but that thought involuntarily vanished when Marik's hand brushed against his. The contact, while brief, was enough to make Bakura quickly tense and then relax again.

All too soon, Marik pulled away. Bakura's eyes opened only for him to shiver, noticing his friend gazing at him with half-lidded eyes and a tiny smile. _When did I even close my eyes? Bloody hell, I can't remember…_

Taking a sharp breath, the white-haired man couldn't bring himself to break eye-contact when he stumbled, "N… not bad."

A large, confident grin worked its way onto Marik's face. "I can't believe it! I made you blush!"

Bakura sighed. _Really, Marik?_

"You look kind of cute when your face is all red," he continued. "No homo or anything, but you do." He paused for a moment, as if considering what to do next. Bakura tried to ignore the voice in his head that was victoriously proclaiming that Marik thought he was cute back and focus on the rather suggestive nature of their current position.

At the sudden, surreal idea of the blond topping him, Bakura started, "Marik, this really doesn't look—."

"You only said my kiss was 'not bad,'" he interrupted. His smile became sly as his eyelids drooped back into their half-lidded state. "I guess I'll just have to practice more."

Before Bakura could protest, Marik leaned forward and kissed him again, stronger, more passionate than the last. Rational thought fled the thief's mind as Marik tilted his head slightly. His whole body felt charged as the Egyptian laid himself down on top of him, a prying tongue requesting entrance into Bakura's mouth.

_Hold on!_ I'm _the manlier of us! It should be _me _dominating. Me. Not Marik!_

The thought of letting the Egyptian take control in this situation, for some reason, scared him. He reacted quickly, opening his mouth and letting his tongue lash possessively around Marik's. The tanned man was obviously surprised, but he moaned softly, battling back firmly yet somehow tenderly in a way that was unlike anything Bakura had ever imagined a kiss to be. Gently, Marik wrapped one arm around the thief's back and stroked Bakura's hair with his other hand, causing the white-haired man to relax almost completely. Bakura let out something between a chuckle and a groan when he realized Marik made such a gesture in order to reassure the thief that everything was okay. Marik hummed, carefully snaking his tongue into the other's mouth and running a hand down Bakura's side.

For a brief moment, the kiss broke, both men taking a breath, before Bakura initiated one for the first time. Even though he started it, he promptly felt himself submitting to Marik again, giving the Egyptian full control, attempting to mimic the passionate movements of Marik's uncannily talented tongue. It dawned on him how unsettling, how wrong, how utterly terrifying it was to be completely without power. It was not nearly so frightening when Marik managed botched evil plans, but allowing him free reign over Bakura's body? His emotions? That was something else entirely.

Bakura suddenly found that risk oddly enticing.

He hated it. He really did.

But not quite as much as he loved it.

He could taste Marik — something sweet yet spicy, like cinnamon sugar, only this was _much_ more appealing. Flooding his nose was the Egyptian's natural scent, that which reminded Bakura of days in sweltering heat and nights over cool sands. Soft pleasured noises occasionally escaped Marik when Bakura tried something more daring, like reaching his tongue over his partner's to stroke at the soft roof of his mouth. And when he cracked open an eye, he could see the raw feeling in those of his friend's, the relaxed nature of his features, the internal and external beauty that made Marik absolutely irresistible.

Their bodies were meshed. Their lips broke apart — again, briefly, only for air — and were connected again moments later, but that wasn't the only spot of contact. They fit together well, Marik's slightly-taller frame easily blanketing over the thief. Bakura's face flushed slightly when he noticed that, at some point, he had wrapped his arms around his partner's neck like some sort of girl. But in most places they touched, they made contact only through clothes. Even in the (still bizarrely feminine) neck hug the thief was giving his friend, he couldn't actually feel Marik's skin, blocked by a three-layered gold choker that foolishly decided to deny Bakura contact with his l… with his lo….

_Damn you, Marik…._

The sensory overload was getting to him. He wanted skin-on-skin contact. He wanted it so badly, it was beginning to hurt. And by the feeling of a roaming hand beneath his shirt, stroking his back, making Bakura _fucking sigh_ like the girl he was apparently becoming, he could tell that Marik wanted it, too.

Fortunately, Bakura was a master thief.

Skillfully, he found the clasp to the Egyptian's choker, feeling the lock once before unhinging it in a swift motion. He smirked a little into their most recent kiss when he realized that Marik hadn't felt it. With a flick of the wrist, he discarded it; but to the thief's dismay, its loud clank startled Marik, causing him to break the kiss and stare at where his necklace now lay on the floor. Purple eyes wide, he turned to Bakura, shock and awe present on his face. "I'm not even going to _ask_ how you did that," he chuckled.

Bakura bit his lip, not wanting the mood to be spoiled, and wrapped his arms around Marik's neck again. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach when he felt Marik's skin against his arms. By the redness on the Egyptian's cheeks, it could be safely assumed that he was feeling something similar. "Touch," was all he said, scooting his body until his forehead made contact with his partner's, closing his eyes.

Marik had the gall to keep snickering. So loud, in fact, Bakura could almost call it a laugh. He quirked open his eyes, irritation working into his previously serene expression, as his friend moved his head back. Bakura's heart sunk. _Of course he wouldn't want this. Why would Marik want this…?_

His thoughts were immediately silenced, however, when he felt delicate hands grab the chain on the back of Bakura's neck and take away the Millennium Ring, tossing it haphazardly alongside the abandoned choker. This time it was Bakura's turn to look up in shock as Marik made quick work of removing his golden wrist and shoulder guards. The thief didn't hesitate before following suit, removing his jacket in the time it took Marik to get rid of the last of the jewelry that adorned his arms. As soon as those were taken care of, the Egyptian's hands worked their way under Bakura's shirt from the back, inching up the fabric as best he could. Bakura's eyes widened as he tilted his body upward, helping his partner out.

"Feeling bold today, aren't you?" the thief smirked, shivering from the cold air's sudden contact with his skin.

"You started it," Marik grinned, successfully yanking Bakura's shirt off. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the pale torso before him. For some reason, this caused him to giggle.

At the sound, the thief felt a bit self-conscious, his traitorous cheeks betraying the glare he sent his friend. "What's so funny?"

Marik reached forward and, to Bakura's shock, ran a thumb over his nipple. The thief bit his lip, suppressing a groan. His half-lidded eyes glared at the stupidly happy look on the Egyptian's face. "They're so pink, Fluffy!"

Before Bakura could respond, Marik leaned down and kissed it, causing a jolt of pleasure to travel directly to the thief's groin. A strangled groan fled his throat as he struggled to focus on the task of removing his partner's lavender vest. Marik lifted himself briefly to help Bakura, seemingly oblivious of anything else that was going on, before attacking his partner's nipples with his mouth and thumb again.

Bakura brushed his hands along Marik's back, tracing over the other's intricate scars. He could feel Marik shiver, his breath becoming shallower. This encouraged Bakura to stroke them more tenderly, applying the tiniest bit more pressure that only seemed to turn on Marik even more. The Egyptian fled his partner's nipples and kissed him on the lips again, his hands traveling down to Bakura's sides and ghosting onto his stomach. Bakura's breath hitched, his head tilting back. At the sound, Marik continued his ministrations, rubbing the tips of his fingers and thumbs in a massage-like manner over the thief's soft yet still toned abs. This, in turn, made Bakura trace over Marik's scars even more quickly.

The effects were akin to that of dominoes; the longer they touched, the more they began to lose control. Bakura had no idea that his stomach was such a sensitive area before, and now he was busy reaping the benefits of his partner's dexterous fingertips. They kissed each other's lips, their necks, their collarbones. The thief felt more and more turned on by the second, and part of him was wondering if Marik would be willing to get even closer…

He hoped he did. He really hoped. But if it turned out that Marik wasn't ready for it, he would abstain.

Making the Egyptian feel uncomfortable was the last thing on his mind.

Suddenly, Marik pulled his body down and began to kiss along the thief's stomach. Bakura gasped before he could help it, arching his back up for more. He could feel Marik smiling through his kisses, making a circle around his bellybutton, running his hands along Bakura's sides. The thief practically lost it when the Egyptian dipped his tongue into his bellybutton, teasing fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his pants.

"B-bollocks…"

"Does Kitty like it when I do that?" Marik purred, sounding almost like a cat himself.

Bakura grimaced in distaste at the nickname. "N… not a—" Marik kissed his stomach and rubbed his thumbs over the thief's nipples at the same time "—f-_fuck,_ Marik!"

At this point, if it was possible, Bakura's pale face was starting to look more flushed than before. By the throbbing between his legs and the nigh-painful tightness of his jeans, it was obvious that all his blood had decided to flow south. Suddenly that weird, unfamiliar self-consciousness started again. He had to remember that Marik was still in the (practically invisible, should be totally nonexistent by now) closet, and had no idea what the Egyptian would do when he saw how the thief's body had reacted to all these wonderful touches.

He made up his mind. He had to stop. And it had to be soon, or else he would crave too much friction, then Marik would find out, then he might get disgusted, then—

Marik brushed against it.

Bakura muffled a groan, eyes scrunching closed and mouth grimacing in humiliation. _Damn it._

From his partner's lungs, the thief heard a small puff of laughter. "Goodness, Fluffy, if I didn't know any better, I would say you looked awfully… _embarrassed…_." Bakura could practically see his friend's smug grin.

"Fuck."

"Don't be hasty," Marik chided. Bakura opened one eye only to close it again as the Egyptian meshed their bodies together once more. To his simultaneous sense of relief, embarrassment, and amazement, he could feel that Marik had the same pressing desire. They both moaned as the Egyptian's hips rolled against those of the thief's, kindling that delicious friction that was driving them both wild.

_My gods… this feels… d-does he even know what he's doing?_ As Marik continued grinding their now obvious erections together and kissing along Bakura's upper torso, ghosting his hands along his pectorals and flicking his nipples experimentally to elicit moans from his partner, Bakura's body's answer was "holy _yes._" But then his mind chimed in with a valid point: _This is Marik we're talking about. Marik, who makes accidental innuendos all the time and doesn't get any of them. Marik, whose I.Q. compares unfavorably to that of a table. Who's to say that he has any idea what on earth he's…_

_He's… he…._

All rational thought had completely ceased. The only thing Bakura and his need-driven body could focus on was the fact that — _somehow_ — Marik had removed the thief's pants and boxers and was now running a gentle, tanned hand along the underside of Bakura's bare thighs. His friend's eyes, awestruck and curious, were observing Bakura's exposed figure as though it were a fascinating piece of art.

…

_Q-quit it._

"Now, now, Marik. Don't pretend you enjoy the view," hissed Bakura, his hand travelling to remove that of his friend.

The Egyptian tilted his head. "What makes you think I _don't_ enjoy the view?"

"You once compared my body to a corpse," Bakura deadpanned. "Not exactly an attractive image."

"Wrong!" Marik exclaimed, his volume and authoritative tone somewhat startling the thief. "I once compared your _tan_ to that of a corpse! Because, I mean, you don't have one. At all." He paused for a moment. "Truth be told, you have a stunning body. Only you can take someone who looks like Ryou and turn him into someone who looks so strong and handsome…" he stroked one of Bakura's 'bat wings' on the top of his head. "…And fluffy."

"D-Do you even know what in buggery you're doing right now?" stammered Bakura, all too aware of their near clotheslessness and extremely close proximity.

Marik blinked. "Foreplay?"

"F…." _Well, that was unexpected_. "F… fore…." He couldn't even bring himself to parrot it back. "…Fuck."

An amused smirk twitched on Marik's face. "You keep saying that word. I don't think it means what you think it means." He leaned forward, their foreheads making contact as the hand that wasn't resting on Bakura's thigh swept in to caress the thief's cheek. There was something dark in his normally light purple eyes, something Bakura had never seen before but _holy Ra,_ _why did it look so attractive?_ In a low voice, one the thief would almost call seductive, Marik continued, "…Does Fluffy need me to show him?"

If Bakura's body had been in control, he would have immediately pulled Marik down and kissed him, kissed him long, kissed him _hard,_ kissed him until there was no air left to breathe and no space left between them — their lips, their torsos, their hips, as they became one, getting as close as possible, even closer, _even closer…_

But part of the thief was still worried about his younger friend's feelings on the matter. Had lust taken over the boy from making out? Had _Melvin?_ Bakura shivered, hoping not. Had Marik realized he loved Bakura, or was he just… practicing? For a girl?

The idea made Bakura's heart fall into his stomach. Not that he'd ever show it.

"Marik?"

"…Yes?"

The thief replaced whatever soft expression he might have had with one of his trademark smirks. "That's an interesting proposition coming from someone who claims to be completely straight."

"Oh, but I _am_ completely straight!" Marik chimed. Bakura couldn't hide a disappointed look. _I should have known he'd say that._ "I'm, like…" Marik began counting on his fingers, "ninety eight percent straight."

Bakura tilted his head. "That doesn't equal one hundred, Marik."

The Egyptian wrinkled his nose in what Bakura's inner voice proclaimed to be an extremely adorable way as he chuckled, "Of course not! I mean, those two numbers sound nothing alike."

"No," Bakura growled, "I mean, you can't be completely straight if you're only ninety eight percent. That doesn't add up." _Surely Marik can't be that stupid…_

…

_Actually, on second thought, it's Marik. Never mind._

"I had a lot of things to think about while I was on my walk, Fluffy," Marik said casually, not-so-smoothly shifting the subject. "Like girls and boys and kissing. And sexuality in general. And I decided that, really, not everyone can be one hundred percent straight; if you were, then how could you love yourself? So that's a mandatory one percent shaving off my otherwise flawless straightness."

"That still doesn't add up," Bakura pointed out, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Again, ninety nine does not equal one hundred."

A soft sigh escaped Marik's lips. They were curled in a gentle smile now, and his eyes had fallen into a half-lidded state. "I know." He leaned forward and, to Bakura's surprise, began to nuzzle him. "Ummm… how do I say this? When I was out there… considering my relationship with a certain partner-in-crime of mine… I decided that maybe I could be the teeniest, tiniest, super-itty-bittiest bit bisexual."

Bakura's heart started fluttering again. Suddenly, it felt like the mood they had created earlier had returned in full force, causing the thief to feel like he was once again falling into the embrace of his only friend. "Oh?"

"Yes," Marik murmured. "I'm bi. But selectively so, Fluffy. _Very_ selectively." He kissed the thief's nose, making Bakura let out a faint gasp. "I think in all my life there's only one man I could ever be truly happy with."

"Who… who would that be?"

The Egyptian grinned, eyes filled with an overwhelming combination of emotions that took Bakura's breath away, as he answered. "And you call me the stupid one."

With that, he leaned in, bridging the gap between their mouths, caressing his hands along Bakura's smoothed abs, grinding their hips together in a way that made both of them dizzy. The passion in their movements leapt into overdrive as all doubt fled Bakura's mind, compelling him to remove Marik's pants and boxers mere minutes after their tongues had started to dance again.

Their needs were very much present and obvious now, and with the complete disappearance of clothes, the pleasure they experienced increased hundredfold. In all of Bakura's midnight fantasies, he had never imagined it would feel this good — especially now that he knew the other returned his affections. A perfect balance of lust and love had overtaken them both, and when Bakura suddenly felt a slender hand grab and stroke a particular place between his legs, he was utterly and willingly at his partner's mercy.

"M-Marik… please…"

"Please what, Fluffy? Be specific." At that mischievous remark, Marik pumped his hand down, releasing a strangled moan from Bakura.

No. No, damn it. This had gone on long enough. "Closer."

"Pardon?"

"I-I need you closer. Don't make me beg for it, Marik."

Bakura's darkened mahogany eyes half-glared and half-pled to the blond man, whose expression suddenly shifted to that of concern. The thief snorted. "Well?"

"I'd love to. Oh, _gods,_ how I want to. It's just… well…" he exhaled, "What if I hurt you? I heard that this is painful the first time. I don't think I'd ever forgive myself if you got hurt because of me. So… maybe you should top. That way, I'll be the one that feels the pain of being fucked." Marik sent Bakura a small, genuine smile. "What do you say?"

Bakura glanced away, unable to meet Marik's kind eyes. His stomach had exploded in butterflies from his partner's honesty again. The fact that he was concerned about hurting him, even in a pleasurable activity like sex, reminded the thief just how wonderful his personality was in spite of him being a villain, how sweet and selfless the other could be when it came to important things. It still surprised Bakura to find just how hard he had fallen for his friend.

This is why, had he not been so turned on and so eager to get some _action_ already, he would have probably replied in a more romantic manner.

"Oh, for Ra's sake, Marik," Bakura breathed, simultaneously amused and annoyed in only the way Marik could bring him to feel, "I'm naked underneath you, my arms are wrapped around your neck, your _hands_ are wrapped around my _dick,_ you're free to do anything you want with me, and you're honestly asking me if I want to _top?_"

The Egyptian looked stunned. "Yes?"

The thief let out a low chuckle. "Don't get me wrong — I love the images I get in my mind of me dominating you," He leaned forward and pulled Marik towards him, kissing his neck and eliciting a small groan. Bakura removed one of the Egyptian's hands from around his anatomy before continuing, "But damn me if I lie and tell you now that I don't find you dominating me _much_ better. I care nothing about whatever pain will come, believe me."

"But what if—"

"Shut up, Marik." Before Marik could react, Bakura jammed the Egyptian's fingers into his mouth, skillfully weaving his tongue around each and every one of them. A shaky moan escaped Marik's throat as his partner sent him a lusty look, Bakura suggestively licking the underside of each finger, exaggerating his movements to make it seem like he was giving this attention to something else entirely. After about thirty seconds, the mesmerized thieves' gazes were broken when Bakura pulled Marik's fingers from his mouth, laid himself down on the couch, and spread his legs ever-so-slightly apart. "Shut up and fuck me."

The Egyptian immediately went to work this time, leaning down towards the area between his partner's legs and parting them. He bit his lip, inserting a saliva-covered finger. Bakura moaned a little, the sensation so far feeling more weird than enjoyable, as Marik began to softly stroke his walls. Encouraged, his partner used his free hand spread apart Bakura's legs a bit more, adding another finger. Faint ripples of pain reverberated throughout Bakura's being, a sensation strangely pleasurable in itself, as he felt those slender hands scissoring him, rubbing him, coating his insides with what the thief knew was his very own saliva. A creepy thought, but one that was oddly arousing.

When the third finger slipped in, the thief hissed, discomfort evident, and rolled his head back. Marik stopped moving them for a moment, allowing Bakura to readjust, before he grabbed at the thief's member and stroked it gently. A sigh escaped the thief's lips as the ache was forgotten in a gentle wave of pleasure. He heard a tiny chuckle escape the Egyptian, but otherwise no sound was exchanged. This was feeling nice — oh, yes, very nice — but _what the fuck, Marik, why are you taking so long, I know you're nervous but I'm perhaps even more anxious, I need you, I need you now, I need you around me, inside me…_

By the time the fourth finger went in, Bakura was through with this.

"Take them out," he growled, a little more harshly than he had wanted. Marik gently removed the fingers, giving his partner a soft and questioning smile regardless.

"You're ready, Fluffy?"

Bakura let out a shaky sigh._ Damn. Why must he look at me like that?_ "Yes," he breathed, lying back and spreading his limbs apart again in what he hoped was a seductive manner. "I am."

It was hard for Bakura to keep his eyes open when he felt Marik finally, _finally_ entering him, stretching him in a way that was painful and pleasurable, uncomfortable and soothing, so wrong and so right. The thief let out a silent moan, breath hitching as he gently rolled his head back, urging Marik to continue forward. But even through all these overwhelming feelings, Bakura kept watching through squinting eyes, examining the look of lusty concentration on the Egyptian's face. Marik looked extremely hot like this, his eyes glazed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Bakura could tell he was being careful, trying to make this as painless as possible. He barely paid any attention to the throbbing shock that rolled through his whole body when his beloved partner was about halfway through; as he fought the tears at the corners of his eyes he focused only on Marik, shaking from the odd, exciting, romantic concept that they were one at last.

When Marik was seated firmly inside, he gave Bakura an awed and affectionate look, biting the corner of his lip gently as he lightly trembled. The thief felt the oddly fascinating sensation of Marik shifting a little inside as his partner leaned forward, resting his forehead on that of the man beneath him. Bakura sensed that it was taking a lot of willpower for Marik to stay still and give Bakura some time to adjust. "You…" Marik started in a quiet, breathless voice, "You okay?"

"Yes," Bakura moaned, tilting up and touching his lips to Marik's in a reassuring half-kiss. "By the gods, _yes._"

"Do you… do you want me to…?"

"Move. Now."

Bakura didn't have to ask twice.

The initial tempo was slow and experimental. Bakura winced a little from the roughness of its friction and briefly wondered if saliva was really the best lubricant he could have thought up at the time. Marik was going back and forth, moaning almost inaudibly, not yet doing anything particularly daring. He seemed like he was shifting a little, changing his angle a bit every time. Bakura gradually relaxed, sighing in contentment and relief, as the dry feeling in his insides grew progressively more lubricated from Marik's stimulation. This made the pace grow faster — though not by much — as Marik seemed preoccupied, still changing his hips' angles every time. After a minute or so, it began to aggravate the thief.

Before Bakura could ask as to what Marik was doing, he felt Marik directly hit something inside him. A gasp escaped from unexpected pleasure. Bakura vaguely saw Marik's victorious grin above him, confidence veiled by a thick layer of lust and affection.

Almost at once Marik began speeding up, repeatedly aiming for the spot. Bakura involuntarily started pulling his hips back and forth opposite of Marik's movements, instantly deciding that this was the best physical sensation his body had ever experienced. Bakura's eyes saw white every time he hit, but his internal feelings were like massive bursts of color. His arms wrapped around Marik's neck as his partner began kissing him again, locking their tongues in a sloppy dance that synched poorly yet marvelously with their bodies. Moans frequently hitched in Bakura's throat, but he decided it wasn't enough. He wanted to encourage Marik more.

"Marik…"

The Egyptian shivered above him at the sound of his name, pulling out almost completely before slamming inside again, causing Bakura to respond with a loud and broken moan. "A-again," Marik prompted, hitting him in that magical spot over and over and over and _over _— "Say my name."

"Marik," Bakura obeyed.

"Again…"

"M-Marik!"

"Ba… kura…"

The throbbing in his stomach, between his legs, was becoming almost unbearable. He was close. Oh, _gods,_ Bakura was close. "Faster," he growled. Marik sped up, making Bakura moan all the louder at this sensation, this stirring, so thick and hot and fast and right and wrong and flawed and perfect. He never wanted this to end. The trembling, the sensations, the simmering yet boiling feeling as he saw Marik, smelled Marik, felt Marik, ready to give himself to him, ready to completely fall into ecstasy, into love, into the one person he never wanted to be apart from, ready to find himself deeper and deeper, devoted, here, to Marik…

It was when Marik started pumping Bakura at the same time that he finally lost it — back tensing, eyes blurring, and body yielding to exploding stars.

A contented smile spread across his face, eyes flickering open to see Marik still going, driving himself over the edge, face etched in concentration and lust. Bakura almost chuckled when he felt more of this numbing pleasure, in and out, in and out…

Had Bakura been more self-conscious at the time, he might have suppressed a sigh of satisfaction — of blissful, tired, embarrassing satisfaction — when he felt himself being filled with a warm substance, somewhat sticky and somewhat slimy and entirely pleasant all at once.

Once Bakura's mind was back in order, he recognized warm and shallow breath against his neck and a tanned body blanketing over him, a pair of arms wrapped comfortably around Bakura's smaller frame. Marik had pulled himself out of him by then, and Bakura suddenly recognized that something was oozing between his legs. His self-awareness sent a small jolt of panic to his brain and he tensed, ready to tell Marik to get up and off of him, when the Egyptian held him a bit more tightly.

"Thanks for helping me practice my kissing."

Bakura sent Marik a tired glare. "You… you aren't planning on kissing any girls… are you?"

"Nope." Marik placed a tiny kiss at the corner of Bakura's mouth. "_This_ was my true evil plan. Impressed?"

_Very._

That solitary word made Bakura bury his face a bit into Marik's chest, hiding a light blush that threatened to reveal this sort of… _idea_ that could emasculate him with the slightest hint. "Hmm."

As if Bakura weren't embarrassed enough, Marik elaborated, "Well, actually, the sex part was sort of improvised. I kind of really just wanted an excuse to kiss you. But don't get me wrong; I'm happy. I'm… I'm very, very happy." The Egyptian pulled back and, even though Bakura's eyes were jammed shut, he could tell that Marik was giving him another honest look. He wasn't sure how; he could feel it. "You mean the world to me."

"I…" Bakura's eyes fluttered open. Sure enough, Marik was gazing at him with his amethyst eyes, those beautiful gems that complemented the romantic grin he's only ever sent him. _I'm yours…_ "…Me too. I mean, uhh… you," Bakura stuttered, pouting bitterly and turning his head to the side, ashamed of his inability to be open to anyone, "…you are also important to me."

A small hum escaped Marik's throat and he sighed, adjusting himself, and Bakura felt as though he were a teddy bear being held by a sleepy two-year-old. "I'm glad." The sincerity in Marik's voice made the thief relax, allowing him to curl into Marik a little, taking in his warmth and the simple contentment of his company. A twitch at the corner of his mouth from thinking that he and Marik had acknowledged they were more than friends almost caused Bakura to smile, but he quickly suppressed it, wondering if Marik had seen it.

Bakura yawned. Suddenly, he felt rather tired.

As luck would have it, Marik yawned seconds later, and he curled up a bit more on top of Bakura. The thief vaguely realized that they had just "done it" on the couch he slept on, but he figured he would complain about it later. The sofa was comfy and Marik was warm and Bakura felt like he had just had his first true taste of heaven after a long and miserable existence of hell.

While he drifted away and the world melted to black, Bakura dreamed he felt a tender pair of lips against his cheek and a nearly inaudible voice utter those three magic words that neither had the courage to say aloud.

"I love you."

* * *

**First one to catch a **_**Princess Bride**_** reference earns a cookie! (And if any of you know **_**Order of the Stick**_**, there's a reference to that, too. You'll get a whole pie for that one.)**

**I didn't want to tell anyone this until after they've read the piece, but this is my first time writing smut. I know that whenever I see things like "first fanfiction ever" in the summary of a story I become predisposed to thinking it might be bad. This literally took five months to write and another two weeks to edit because I would become embarrassed over what I was doing and need to take breaks every half a page or so. That being said, I'm not too happy with the result — at least of the actual sex. I don't know. What do you think?**

**Reviews and favorites are always loved. Thank you for reading.**


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